In June 2000, Jason Brooks, a junior at Angelo State University, went to work for me as a summer intern. The first day on the job, we had a daylong tour on brush sculpting. As we drove to the first stop near Tennyson, I was briefing him on the various research and Extension efforts that I rode herd over. The common denominator was quail. Jason looked at me and asked a bit incredulously, "why quail?"

A topical question, I suppose. Why not the beloved whitetail? Or the wily coyote? Or the majestic wild turkey? Why had I bonded so with bobwhites and blues?

I give most of the credit to my recently deceased setter Suzie. She had the face that launched a thousand trips. And on most of those trips I ruminated on quail. Maybe the feather that floated fatefully in my version of Forrest Gump was that of a bobwhite. Maybe that's my destiny Mama.

The first bird's song I can remember was that of a bobwhite rooster outside our kitchen window. I was four or five years old at the time, and can remember my Mama saying, "that bird says its name: bob-white". Perhaps I was imprinted at an early age, and have followed quail innately since then.

The kindling of an early quail encounter was fanned by a life in the country. There were no deer, no turkeys. If you were going hunting, it was implied that you were going bird hunting. My quail fire burned bright until the mid-1980s, but began to wane. Destiny came my way again in June 1991 when I saw Suzie at seven weeks of age, locked up tight on a quail wing dangling from a cane pole. She breathed new life on the ember and made it burn brighter than ever.

Now it's payback time.

Last week I had the opportunity to give the banquet remarks at the Fifth National Quail Symposium which coveyed up in Corpus Christi. My presentation was entitled "Sustaining the 'Quail Wave' in the southern Great Plains." I looked forward more to that talk than to any I've given over the last 15 years. It was likely my magnum opus, at least to date.

The ballroom was packed with more than 300 quail managers, scientists, hunters, and others who could relate to bird dog divinity. I laid out my objectives as threefold: (1.) to entertain, (2.) to inform, and (3.) to inspire. All would hinge on one another.

"If you can make a person laugh, you can make them like you, and believe you, and trust you." — Alfred Smith.

I relied on my forte', i.e., imitations of bird calls, done a cappella of course, to set the ambiance, and get the audience on my side. This particular crowd could especially relate to the poor-bob-white and koil-ee calls of the nervous bobwhite.

I recalled the question that someone asked me about whether I'd become interested in quail because I could whistle like them, or could I whistle like them because I was interested in them? A Gump enigma, I reckon.

"Education is a lifelong process." — Anonymous.

When it came time to inform, I lamented to the partridge pundits that "there's still a whole lot about quail I don't know; and a lot more that I don't understand." I sermonized with the parables of camouflaged cowboy hats, quail-proof fences, Cadenhead's Corollary, and Hippocratic management. I challenged their dogma about predators, disease, and hunting.

Earlier in the day, Shane Mahoney, a Paul Revere-like sentinel for the future of hunting from Newfoundland, had waxed eloquently about issues facing hunters and other conservationists. "Knowledge alone won't save wildlife and hunting" he said, "passion will." My message was spoken in earnest; quail are my passion.

"I wish I was just half the man that my dog thinks I am." — Anonymous.

For the coup de grace, I borrowed upon the wisdom that Suzie had imparted to me over miles afoot among the mesquites and prickly pear. I marched deliberately through "Suzie's 10-Point Plan for Success", pausing momentarily to swallow hard as I looked at her on the big screen. Although I'd used Suzie's "plan" to inspire Bobwhite Brigade cadets for the last six years, it was the first time I'd spoken of her posthumously.

As a postscript, I shared with them a two-pronged addendum that I'd tacked onto Suzie's message since her death a couple of weeks ago. Point No. 11 is "sign your work." Brand everything you do so that it bears your mark ... indelibly. Point No. 12 laments that "time is short; make a difference."

Entertain. Inform. Inspire. Sounds like a plan to me. I hope it will be flushed with success.

And as for Jason, well, I'm trying to get him to sign on to do his Master's degree with me. I've been impressed with his abilities, personality, and drive. He reminds me of a young setter pup. I don't have a clue what his research topic will be.

Yeah, right!

P.S. If you'd like a reprint of my "quail wave" paper, drop me an e-mail (d-rollins@tamu.edu) or telephone (915) 653-4576. Copies of the proceedings for the 5th National Quail Symposium are available for $25 (plus shipping) from the Caesar Kleberg Wildlife Research Institute (361) 593-3922).